Nineteen Years
by xXKanpekiXx
Summary: Reunion with an enemy can mean funny things when the hatred's dried up. Harry and Draco kindle a tentative friendship, but one of them decides they want more. A lot more. Lemon in future chapters. DRARRY.
1. Chapter 1

This was written as a gift for a dear friend of mine. Thankfully, my lazy ass has already completed the full story. It's a bit of a mess, but I thought I'd upload it here. New chapter every week. It has 6 chapters, including this one.

Y'arrr there be lemons ahead. Consider yeself warned.

* * *

As Harry watched the youngest of his sons struggle to close his trunk, the weight of time once again tugged at his shoulders. The last 19 years had drifted by in a pleasant, peaceful haze. Each day resembled both the one before it and the one to follow, leaving the residents of this period in a sort of wonderful boredom. Without the threat of Voldemort looming overhead, there was peace and Harry was able to finally relax.

Mourning turned into picking up the pieces, then rebuilding, followed by a period of stability, and then progress.

Harry Potter, the savior, took a decidedly passive role in the rehabilitation of the wizarding world. What the papers and his ever-adoring public mistook for humility, those closest to him knew to be satisfied resignation. He'd done, by conservative estimates, 10,000 times his civic duty and vanquished the darkest force the world had yet seen. Hermione wanted to urge him to action, anxious about this malaise, but could find no real reason to. Ron figured he deserved a rest.

Ginny, on the other hand, absolutely relished his attitude, enjoying the normal life they were allowed to live. Days like the dawning one were what the Potter family lived for. The harmless excitement of seeing their children off to Hogwarts reverberated through the household as they finalized preparations to leave for King's Cross Station.

The kids were quiet, tired from waking early and nervous to leave. Ginny and Harry, now almost two decades into their routine, remained comfortably silent. They walked with their brood until Albus Severus fell back, crouching to the ground, crippled by his nerves. Harry hung back to comfort him before heading over to greet Ron and Hermione.

There was something satisfying being related to his two best friends. He'd gone from ridiculously alone to having more family than he knew what to do with and it felt, as he often put it, "brilliant." Hermione implored him to visit the Burrow with them the upcoming weekend, to visit Molly and Arthur whom time had made jollier than ever. Fred and George's birthday was coming up and they insisted on celebrating the occasion and honoring his memory surrounded by his loved ones.

Ginny assured Hermione they would be joining them as usual and the sisters-in-law began to discuss making some sort of memorial to bring to the gathering, leaving Harry with the opportunity to survey the mob mulling around the platform.

A flash of silver hair stung his periphery and he felt a chill 19 years forgotten.

Harry, for whatever reason, let his childhood rival fall far off his radar once the war ended. There were rumors of continued dark magic practices and, on a wildly unrelated note, thinly veiled homosexuality. He caught whispers of his name on the tongues of gossips and scattered through newspapers, but never mustered the will to understand the plight of Malfoy. Though he'd never been able to fully push the blonde's existence from his mind, thought of him was no longer a daily occurrence. But it seemed that would change.

Draco Malfoy was watching proudly as a boy which must have been his son embraced what must have been his wife. When the child pulled away, his suspicions were confirmed, as the regal Malfoy features graced his young face. The woman next to him was well kempt and pretty, with her long brown hair tapered up in an elegant half up-do. She stood stiffly in a tight navy dress suit, but smiled with all the unconditional love of a mother. An image of Luscious and Narcissa flickered over the two adults, but was banished quickly.

The Malfoys were still picture perfect, but their seamlessness was less sinister. In fact, Draco's smile, which stretched his still stunning grey eyes, reminded him a bit of his father's. Winded by that radical thought, Harry justified it by reminding himself that both James Potter and Draco Malfoy were childish bullies-turned-good fathers. The idea remained disconcerting as well as comforting.

His thoughts were interrupted by the shrill whistle of the train and the parting words of his lifelong friends. Ginny ushered their daughter back toward the muggle platform, expecting Harry to follow. He did, but not before casting one more curious look at Malfoy, who for a moment, seemed to catch his gaze.

The years had been unreasonably kind to Draco. His hair was still thick and, instead of being greased back into submission, was lightly styled to frame his face. A face, which Harry was loathe to admit, was still sharp and strong. His maturity made him look darker, but the kinder demeanor weakened the effect. Fashion sense never failing, his pitch black suit made his face and skin glow. Harry tensed with envy. Though he was still, by all means, a handsome man, stubble refused to leave his chin and his face had hollowed a bit. He also had a few more gray hairs than he would have liked to admit. Seemed he couldn't escape years of constant peril without a few consequences. And ever recognizable with his scar and glasses, Harry James Potter stood a relic and a prophecy. Ageing was inevitable, but he liked to think of his wire rimmed spectacles as a way to see things as he had in the past.

Simply.

Somehow, Harry felt that diving into Malfoy business wouldn't be conducive to this. So he left. Harry turned, running to meet Ginny as she passed through the barrier.

The very next week, an exquisite and painfully expensive bottle of aged mead arrived on the Potters' doorstep. Harry retrieved it, initially stooped as to who could have sent it. While he and Ginny were far from strapped for cash, they tended to avoid splurging on frivolous things.

Ron, finally able to escape the clutches of poverty, was now claimed by the middle class, so he was out.

The Weasleys were, as usual, ruled out automatically.

There were a great deal of co-workers willing to extend an ass-kiss or two Harry's way, but to his knowledge, none of them had such impeccable taste. The bottle looked as though it could fetch enough to furnish a flat in the middle of London. And once Harry caught sight of the sender's note, he realized that it was certainly a possibility.

"_Potter,_

_ It really is a shame that I've waited so long to do this. I'd hoped things would settle down before I had to face my responsibility. Well, I've let things go an embarrassingly long time. If you and your wife are free this coming Saturday, the 10__th__, please join me for dinner at my manor. 8:00 sharp. Tell the house elf at the gate 'cherry cordials.' _

_-Malfoy_

_P.S. I hope the token I sent with this letter will help you overlook my tardiness.'_

The lettering was perfect, as stiff and formal as the writing style, but there was a faint familiarity in the way he used only their surnames. Somehow, Harry felt the guilt of social responsibility on his shoulders, leaving him to consider polite ways to refuse. He wasn't sure he could suffer through an evening of formalities with his former enemy.

This wasn't new; hundreds of "reformed" or "Imperious-controlled" Death Eaters attempted apologizing to the war's victor, but after sitting half heartedly through the first twenty or so, he decided to start accepting repentance by mail. Not that he felt he had the authority to do so. Everyone else seemed to. But Harry never expected the prideful Draco Malfoy to come asking for forgiveness.

It didn't feel right.

The last he'd really seen of the blonde had been in the Ministry courtroom, surrounded by the suffocating black walls. Underneath a thin veneer of disdain, he'd looked frail and terrified. This, of course, turned into sheer disbelief when Harry stood to testify on his behalf.

Saving one of Voldemort's followers wasn't high on his to-do list after the battle that changed everything, but he figured that it wasn't something he could avoid. Draco did refuse to identify him for the Death Eaters and his mother did lie to Voldemort to save him, though the motives for each of these actions were questionable. So, Harry urged to spare the two, clearing them of all charges.

He couldn't stop their descent into being social pariahs, but that was none of his concern.

"What is that?" Ginny chirped, tugging the crisp stationary from Harry's hands as she dispelled his reminiscence.

"An invitation." He said after a moment. "To have dinner with the Malfoys." Ginny's face visibly soured.

"Why?" She asked, eyes narrowed. A 19 year reprieve was obviously not enough to relieve her hatred.

"Probably to apologize, like the letter said." Harry pointed to the note in her hand, hoping she'd just read it so he didn't have to answer any more questions.

"For what? Helping Voldemort? Having you testify for him? Being a total arse in school?" She spat, tossing the letter, envelope and all into a nearby trash bin.

"I don't know. One of those? Maybe all three." Harry said cautiously, fetching the discarded paper. He didn't know where it belonged or why he felt the need to keep it, but he certainly wanted to avoid throwing it away.

"Probably is tired of having to explain to his child why they get nasty stares wherever they go. Thinks you can do something for him." Ginny said, running a hand through her still vibrantly red hair. She, too, had long since tired of post-war appeals.

"That's not like him. He's too stubborn to ask for help." Harry said, pulling out his wand to send the letter flying to his office. Ginny seemed stunned.

"Oh no, you're not considering going, are you?" She asked, taking a couple firm steps toward her still-confused spouse.

"No…no!" Harry said raising his arms in a defensive gesture. He really hadn't been wanting to go, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious. "Gin, relax. I'll just send him the mead back and tell him we can't make it."

"The mead?" Ginny swiveled her redhead to the table where the magnificent bottle lit up their otherwise plain kitchen table. She betrayed herself with a small gasp before running her fingers over the gold emblazoned label. While Ginny wasn't a boozehound, she did adore the way bottles looked on the shelf above the sink. The thought of having to send back the elegant mead caused visible tension. "Can't we just accept the gift as a sign of forgiveness?"

"Oh that's nice." He scoffed playfully. "Take the mead worth half of London and tell the Malfoys we're too busy to play nice. Seriously, Gin, what do you have to do that weekend?" A pained look left her without a proper response.

"Fine. We'll go. But you're buying me a new dress. I will not be outdone at our own apology dinner." She huffed, crossing her arms and leaving the room. She was halfway to the new issue of "Witches' Wear" when Harry's sputtering caused her to stop.

"Wait, who said we were going?"

"You insisted that we couldn't keep the mead without making an appearance."

"Yeah, meaning we don't keep the mead and we salvage our Saturday. I promised our daughter a trip to Honeydukes." Harry pressed.

"Alright." She relented with a soft grumble, continuing back to that magazine. Every few minutes, Harry could hear heavy sighs over lost possibilities coming from the other room.

Harry's satisfaction with the matter waned quickly over the next few days. He put off responding to Draco's invitation, first excusing the delay on the grounds that he had work. However, as the days dragged on, he was forced to admit to himself that he was seriously considering attending Malfoy's little apology soirée just to see what the hell he wanted. But he was far from admitting it to his wife, though she seemed amenable to the idea. Harry finally decided on declining and sat down at his desk to pen Draco a polite refusal.

Unfortunately, his hand hadn't received the memo.

Once it was finished, he gave it a last glimpse before grimacing at his cowardice. And his handwriting.

"Ginny, looks like you're getting a new dress."

* * *

Warning: This story has a lot of convenient jumps. If I had more time, I'd make it more realistic, but I'm tired and bitter and working on a webcomic. Please enjoy the rest. It's somewhat entertaining.


	2. Chapter 2

YAY! Update as promised. So here you are, friends! Please enjoy chapter two. New update same time next week.

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Harry and Ginny stood, hand in hand, dressed within an inch of their lives, before the impossibly high rot-iron gates. The black rods curved and twisted like a nest of snakes, partially obstructing the view of a vast and well tended front garden. The stern extravagance left the couple both humbled and confused. They stood, quite alone, waiting for any sign of life. With a startling "pop," a wrinkled and presumably angry house elf appeared behind the bars.

"Can I help you?" He croaked.

"Ah, we're here to see Mr. Malfoy." Harry responded anxiously, picking at his pain stakingly styled hair out of habit. His hand was quickly swatted down by his irritated wife, who feared his nervous habit would ruin her handiwork.

"Password?"

"Oh, right. Uhh…cherry cordials." The raven haired man said. The elf gave a grunt of recognition before running a decidedly crooked finger down the center of the railing and disapparating. The gates creaked open, revealing their infrequent use. Ginny picked up the hem of her silky emerald gown and started clopping down the walkway beside her husband. They reached the broad double doors and hesitated before swinging the gargoyle knocker. Harry wholeheartedly expected to see another house elf welcome them inside, but when the mahogany door flew inward, they were greeted by Draco Malfoy and his steely gray eyes.

It was at this point Harry realized he should had prepared himself mentally for eye contact.

Even from the very beginning, Draco's stare could cut to the soul, if you had one. It made their arguments more personal, since the blonde boy's eyes saw Harry's weaknesses and threw them in his face. If Harry thought he was unprepared to see those eyes again, he was light-years away from being ready to see his former nemesis's next expression.

Draco smiled. Nervously, of course, but with enough sincerity to make Harry forget his second thoughts about attending the dinner.

"Potter. Come in." He said curtly, disappearing behind the door. If Ginny was irritated that she'd been ignored, she didn't show it. They followed their host into a grand entry way, quietly admiring the refined décor. Draco walked swiftly, neglecting to turn around while he led the way to the dining hall, which incidentally was just as ornate as the first room.

A pristine table awaited them, laden with both immaculate settings and dishes of delicious looking food. A few moments passed in awkward silence before Draco's wife walked through the opposite entrance, followed by levitating pitchers of what looked like a deep burgundy Sangria.

It seemed Ginny went a little overboard with her wardrobe selection despite Harry's gentle protests.

Astoria Malfoy donned a demure indigo dress, whose A-line hem fell conservatively around her knees. Her hair was swept back in a stylish ponytail and she strode confidently in her two inch wedges.

Draco was faithful to his monochromatic wardrobe and wore a white button down with a well-tailored ebony blazer and matching pants. Harry decided on a deep red shirt and black pants, refusing to purchase an emerald shirt matching his wife's dress.

Ginny, on the other hand, insisted on wearing a flowing green maxi dress, complete with satin bows and a small train. The dress was most certainly designer, but the comparatively childish jewelry she accessorized with were glaringly tacky, especially in the Malfoy manner. Harry could just feel Draco's aristocrat senses screaming disapproval at the "novae riche."

He was oddly surprised when that critical glare shone approval at Harry's fashion choices.

Well, shone as much as was possible for the still upright man. It was more like a flicker. But Harry didn't miss it.

They sat down to what was probably the best "home cooked" meal Harry had since the heyday of Molly Weasley. Astoria claimed to have made everything from scratch, but the number of house elves scurrying around the estate cast some well-place doubt on her assertion. The dinner conversation, in comparison, was unremarkable. Living situation this, children that. The wives spent a great deal of time getting to know each other, indulging in both polite chit chat and light gossip.

Surprisingly, Astoria Malfoy had a very light side which Ginny really seemed to enjoy. Ginny whispered high praise to their hostess to Harry later, something about her being the kind of housewife she saw in those wizard soaps, but her otherwise occupied husband didn't really hear her. He was more focused on an unusually nonvocal Malfoy.

It seemed playing nice was extremely difficult for Draco, and he decided to remain silent for most of the meal. He made a few snide remarks, a couple sincere ones, and then shut his mouth. While grateful that Draco didn't broach the topic of forgiveness while he was mooning over the Yorkshire pudding, Harry's anxiety built as he waited for the bomb to drop.

After the plates were cleared and Astoria urged Ginny to follow her to see some of the most recent additions to their in-house art gallery, Harry was almost certain Draco had given up on asking for a pardon.

Directly, at least.

Not that it mattered.

If Harry held any grudges toward the Slytherin, they were forgotten after his first bite of that pudding.

For a moment, he almost felt aroused reminiscing about the dessert, but was brought back to earth when Malfoy extended an invitation to join him in his study.

Harry flattened his ruffled feathers and followed his abrupt host into a dimly lit room. The Hogwarts-standard bookcases, filled to the brim with endless volumes look like something straight from one of Hermione's wet dreams. As soon as he'd finished taking in the room, Draco thrust a generous portion of scotch into his hand before sitting on the edge of his gargantuan desk.

The pensive look on his face made Harry's short-lived fantasy of getting away apology-free fall faster than Viktor Krum's Wronski Feint. He knocked back a few thick gulps of the no doubt premium liquor in preparation while the former Death Eater studying him from his seat did the same. The burning in the back of his throat turned into familiar sickly warmth in his stomach.

"Potter…Harry…" Draco started, still beyond uncomfortable. At the mention of his first name, Boy Savior intervened.

"Oh Merlin, stop. You don't have to do this." He interrupted, flourishing his glass violently enough to startle Malfoy, but softly enough to avoid spilling. "The mead, the fancy dinner? You should know buying my forgiveness isn't necessary. I don't care anymore." Harry took a step forward and brought his palm to rest lightly on Draco's pale forehead. The taller man tensed at the contact and furrowed his brows.

"What the bloody hell are you-?"

"There. You're absolved. So you can drop the charade. It's creepy." It came out a bit harsher than Harry had anticipated, but he attributed it to the built up frustration of having to formally forgive scores of pandering losers. That and the scotch. When Malfoy swatted his hand away and started straightening out the mussed hairs, Harry expected one of two things to happen; either he and Ginny would be ushered out of the mansion now that Draco had what he wanted or Harry would be told to sign an official contract stating his approval.

But Draco did neither.

He cursed softly and turned to face his desk, setting his suddenly empty glass on the table with a weak "thunk."

"Still intent on saving everyone, aren't you, Saint Potter?" The seemingly defeated man muttered. The return of his bitter nickname revealed a little more of the boy Harry spent his school years fighting with, but confused him further.

"Isn't that what you wanted? What is it you're after?"

"I didn't bring you here so you could pardon me. Goddamn, Potter, as suspicious as ever. Not that I've given you reason to be otherwise." Malfoy straightened up and steel gray met vivid green. "I just…want to thank you. Tacky, I know, but…agh, there is no classy way to do this." He magicked himself another hefty portion of scotch and using his drink, produced a much needed silence.

"Thank me for what?"

"Saving the bloody world, you wanker!" Malfoy spat, alcohol clearly washing away his "good company mask." Despite the sudden change in tone, Harry couldn't help but chuckle.

"That's the first time anyone's phrased it that way." The two of them shared a look that started to dissolve the barrier keeping them from at least partial honesty. Draco let slip a weak smile and slouched a little.

"It wouldn't be sincere otherwise." He sighed, swirling the amber liquid around the beautifully detailed crystal in his hand. Harry raised his corresponding glass in a sort of toast before finishing his share. Manners returning to him in a small way, probably out of need to be totally hammered right then and there, Draco jumped to pour his guest another serving. It was gladly accepted.

A pleasant, mutual buzz turned into tipsy, and then full-on inebriation. And, to Harry's chagrin, Draco finally started in on Ginny's attire.

"You'd think she were accepting the award for overcoming her gingerhood, not a dinner party. Seriously, Potter, what does she wear to work? Her wedding dress?" Draco scoffed. Harry was vaguely thankful that the hostility he'd come to expect of Draco had returned and pointed itself away from him. He didn't know how he felt about it hitting his wife.

"She doesn't work." Harry responded flatly, feeling as though he'd let some hostility of his own slip.

"So, she wears the wedding dress around the house." The blonde man remarked, before taking another swig of their liquid friendship. Harry gave in to a guilty laugh.

"Ginny said she didn't want you and your perfect wife to outdo her. She even forbade me from wearing my favorite emerald shirt so we would match too much. Something about it being tacky." It was Draco's turn to snort indignantly. He then grazed his eyes over Harry's torso, still covered by a now-well wrinkled shirt.

"Pity." He said softly, almost drowned out by the clink of his yet-again empty glass on the desk they were now leaning against. The moment seemed right, Draco being too drunk to stand by himself, so Harry broached the subject of his motives for bringing him to the manner.

"So seriously, what made you want to be all apologetic and generous? Did you just wake up last week and think 'I'm going to smother Potter in courtesy?'" Harry drawled, hoping he sounded as drunk as he felt.

"I can't tell if you're being naturally stupid or if the scotch is talking. If you must know, seeing you at King's Cross for the first time in a bloody century reminded me of your existence." Draco responded. Harry's face spread in a cheeky grin.

"That's hogwash and you know it!" He pointed his drink hand accusingly, sloshing a good amount of liquor on the Persian rug.

"And you're cut off." Draco announced, pilfering the glass from his hand, finishing the rest of it, and snapping his fingers for a house elf. The servant started cleaning while the drunken ramblings of Saint Potter continued.

"You could never forget my existence." He crooned, tilting his head in a fake sign of affection. "Back at Hogwarts, you used to complain about how often I was in the papers and I hadn't even saved the world yet!" His face had started to match his shirt, but the change in hue was nowhere near as drastic as Malfoy's. The abnormally pale face showed every bit of alcohol flush and embarrassment.

"Get off it, you git." Draco sunk back into the desk while Harry decided to slink closer. He didn't stop until he had his hands on either side of Malfoy, gripping the desk in determination.

"Tell meeeee." The Boy Who Lived, now better known as The Boy Well Liquored, slurred, spewing his booze breath all over his target.

"Disgusting." Draco scoffed, forcefully lifting the arms trapping him and moving to the other side of the room. His escape failed to deter Harry.

"Did Astoria put you up to this?" He asked. Draco snorted again.

"Her suggestions are a far cry from my actions. I barely listened to my mother. What makes you think I'd listen to my wife?" He saw the dim look of confusion on Harry's face and chuckled. "It seems you haven't realized that not everyone marries for _love_, Potter." Harry was taken aback, foregoing one of his Golden Boy "truths of the world" arguments. Draco paused for a moment, swaying with his drunken haze, before continuing.

"Though if there's one thing I do appreciate about my wife, it's her bearing me a son." His face softened at the mention of Scorpius. "I am quite fond of him." And judging by the look on his face, that was putting it lightly. "If you must know, he's largely the reason I brought you here. I finally admitted to myself I was wrong when I realized I would rather my son live in a world won by you than destroyed by my bad judgment." His face fell, obviously hitting a sore spot.

Malfoy started smacking himself in the face, muttering regrets at admitting his shameful epiphany to Harry Sodding Potter. If Harry had been in his right mind, the sight would have reminded him of Dobby. But he was so far gone, the irony escaped him. Another silent moment passed.

"For what it's worth, Malfoy…I really don't blame you for anything."

"Well, I do. And I'm afraid my son will too." The room was dead for another few minutes before Malfoy picked up the mood. "You know, my son, Scorpius, tells me that a classmate named Albus Severus is both the stupidest and bravest wizard he's ever met. Remind you of anyone?" Draco smirked, eyes lighting up as he initiated a dance 19 years neglected.

The two continued to banter as though they were still hexing each other in the halls of their old school. This time around, their insults were softer, more playful. At one point, Harry decided to jokingly tackle his newfound drinking buddy. He didn't get anywhere near Malfoy, and stumbled a bit. Miraculously, he didn't have face time with the floor.

The formerly athletic man did, however, trip over his own feet once more before regaining his shaky balance.

Just then, a giggling Ginny and Astoria strode through the door. They both winced at the stench of scotch permeating the thick study air. Ginny, absolutely mortified at the stumbling state of her husband, turned a color comparable to her hair. Astoria, on the other hand, stood back with a sort of shell shocked wonder.

Livid, Ginny forced Harry to apparate home and followed after a few quick words of apology. Just before leaving, Draco shot Harry a burning stare, warning him not to share his confessions. Nodding in comprehension, Harry popped away.

For at least a full minute after the tottering Potter disappeared, a dazed Draco stared at his last occupied space while the hens clucked in the background. He heard something about making arrangements for another meeting, but his blonde head was unprepared to handle information processing and he let it go.

At that moment, he hoped he'd drunk enough to forget the night, so he wouldn't have to regret spilling his guts to his former enemy in the morning.

* * *

Until next Tuesday.


	3. Chapter 3

ANOTHER ON-TIME UPDATE! I'd better calm down or I'll get a God complex. Anyway, I just finished moving all of my stuff back into the dorm room and set up my desk so it's surrounded by posters of beautiful men. This is going to be a good year.

Enjoy.

* * *

Draco Malfoy woke up with head pain instead of memories. Astoria brought him a hangover remedy while their favorite house elf, Snickers, prepared breakfast. But as the potion worked his magic, he could see the image of a most embarrassing night forming in his head. He vowed to put aside the bottle…at least for a week.

Harry Potter awoke with a head filled with both pain and interesting memories. He almost fancied them part of a dream, but from what Ginny chastised him for once he was out of bed, they seemed all too real. Thankfully for the already defeated boozehound, his fiery wife relented. Though, when Harry figured out why, he wasn't so sure if it was a good thing.

"…And Astoria absolutely had a fit when I mentioned our timeshare in Paris. She and I had this crazy little idea to take a trip down together so she can convince Draco they should get one too. She hinted at their romance needing a real big push." She blathered, pushing half cooked eggs around a skillet.

"Merlin, Gin, you hated the Malfoys and after one dinner, you're planning vacations with them?" Harry asked incredulously. He was so tired that there was no real force behind his "outrage."

"After taking a look at their mansion, I wouldn't be surprised if Astoria was serious. But it's just a silly little daydream. What's certain is our lunch double date this Thursday afternoon. I mentioned wanting to try out that quaint little French café opening in downtown London and Astoria jumped at the idea." She continued, eggs fully cooked by the time she finished talking.

"What?! No, Ginny. I didn't sign up for this." He whined, stomach plummeting at the thought of facing Draco again with the innumerable uncertainties their tenuous relationship now faced.

"Harry, please," She whined, cocking her head to the side and bringing her husband his eggs. He relented, hoping one more awkward meal with the Malfoys would quell his wife's need to join the Real Housewitches of London.

It didn't.

And neither did the following five casual gatherings. And after ever meeting, Harry was regaled with the fascinating stories of Astoria's life. Well aware of the rumors that her husband was regularly entertaining flamboyantly gay men, she'd begun to unleash all of her frustrations and anxiety on Ginny. While Mrs. Potter found Draco's actions deplorable, she tolerated his presence to support the formal Mrs. Malfoy.

The friendship between Astoria and Ginny had grown to such an extent that if they weren't meeting in the flesh, they'd speak through a magic fire.

Harry and Draco had, somehow, gotten past the initial awkwardness of seeing each other so often. In fact, they'd settled into a sort of comfortable banter-driven friendship. Nowhere near as warm and talkative as that of their wives, but something tacit and deeper.

It seemed Harry found a welcome sort of calm in his time with the Malfoys. Astoria was pleasant, it left Ginny giddy, and being around Draco provided him with a unique sort of companionship. He couldn't have been more satisfied.

That's when the dreams started.

They started subtle. A few sparse reminiscences of long looks, proximity, Malfoy's smell. The most memorable dream was of their first reunion. He could still smell Draco's unique scent under the overwhelming scotch vapors. It was musky and sharp, with a subtle sweetness that reminded him of wolfsbane. Every inhale sent more heat rushing to his cheeks.

Harry blamed it on not being able to process their new relationship.

They turned steamy. Harry's face inched ever closer to Malfoy's, which despite his pale coloring, radiated heat like the lick of flames. Their lips met in a deep kiss, slow, but with enough pressure to leave them numb when it was over. But they didn't have time to think. Tongues writhed and caressed against each other, slick with saliva and desperation. They battled aggressively, the victor exploring the other's mouth with lustful abandon. Draco traced his thin fingers up and down Harry's thinly clothed arms, rubbing small circles at the crest of his shoulder. The motions, coupled with the hot slithering in his mouth, send shivers down Harry's spine. With a knot of tension in his lower stomach, he felt a lightning bolt of arousal pooling in his groin. A kind of heat that made him wake up with a rock hard erection.

Harry blamed it on the lack of intimacy in his marriage.

Finally, they turned outright raunchy.

Draco leaned in, pressing his palms against Harry's trousers, feeling the firm bulge forming underneath his sweet touch. With the hand rubbing slow circles into his groin, Harry mewled into the smooth crook of the blonde's neck. The motions grew faster. And harder. Boy Savior relished the feeling of starchy dress pants sliding over his swelling member with an unreal amount of friction. However, it served as a reminder that he was still very much clothed, to the immense frustration of both parties. The taller boy decided to remedy that. Harry gasped when he felt a strong pair of hands grab his ass and lift him onto a tall wooden desk. Once he was settled, Draco continued his ministrations in between steps in undressing. Unbutton, rub, rub, zipper, rub, squeeze, groan. A simple lifting of his ass and Harry was finally divested of his trousers, which pooled near his dangling feet. Reaching into the front opening of his boxers, Draco pulled out his partner's arousal.

Harry hissed at the sudden nakedness of his cock, muttering something in Parseltongue out of habit. Seemingly more aroused, if that were possible, by Harry's bilingual banter, Draco lowered his head in a swish of platinum blonde and began to give the groin in front of him a thorough tonguing. Torturously slow and sadistic, he swiped his muscle around, teasing every area except the hard-on, much to his prey's distaste. The raven haired boy snaked his hands through slightly waxed hair, urging him to taste his erection. Instead of complying, the devil between his thighs decided to lavish kisses in a thin trail down his leg. While he enjoyed the chills it sent spiraling through his body, Harry's frustration hit its breaking point, and he reached a hand down to relieve himself. It was swatted away before he could even stroke once.

Taking the not-so-subtle hint, Draco flicked a line up the length before him, tracing the now prominent vein. He followed that train with a broad lick that made flames dance in Harry's vision. With a soft suck, the head of his member entered an impossibly wet cavern. And the warmth moved. Draco thrust his mouth downward, taking a bit more of hardness inside with each movement. It was all Harry could do to avoid impaling or at the very least, annoying his aggressor. And he certainly didn't want to do that. Not when he'd just been acquainted with a very sensitive part of his body.

Harry watched the blonde head in his lap continued to bob with a wild satisfaction he never dreamed of feeling. The sharp tongue that once questioned every part of his being was now pleasuring him, sending faded waves of ecstasy coursing through his limbs. As that blissful organ toyed with the sensitive underbelly of Harry's second head, the first let out a wonton moan. A pair of fingers slithered up his torso and into his now-open mouth, demanding to be sucked. He tried to reciprocate the sheer magic going on down below, hoping he was giving Draco at least half the pleasure he was currently receiving.

It seemed he'd met his goal when a thick grunt sent mind-blowing vibrations through his cock, careening him closer and closer to the edge. Liking the effect it had on Harry, Draco started to hum with purpose, alternating with hard sucks. Feeling the harsh throbbing of the member in his mouth, he prepared himself for what was to come. Underneath him, he could feel Potter writhing and tensing. Breathy gasps from above attempted to alert him to Harry's finish. A blinding euphoria shook Harry's body and he awoke to some embarrassingly wet sheets.

Harry blamed it on being a filthy, horrible pervert that needed to be stabbed. Twice.

He managed to magic away the incriminating stains before his wife stirred, but the absurdity of Harry's dreams left latent marks on his psyche.

Though he tried to push the thoughts from his mind, he would catch himself lapsing into fantasy throughout the day. Just as he'd managed to be on the best terms with Draco Malfoy they'd ever been on, Harry found a way to screw everything up. He started to remember all the times he'd seen Malfoy at Hogwarts, thinking he was too bloody attractive for his own good.

But then he wondered if he was just fabricating a life-long attraction to justify some wonky dreams.

He finally decided not to give it another moment of his time and finally succeeded in distracting himself with work.

Too bad even his place of business was riddled with traces of a certain blonde firecracker. Since he was not on active Auror duty, he floated by on a cushy desk job. When he opened his lunch, Ginny's note about a weekend retreat with the Malfoys was there. When his family owl brought him a letter, Ron's smudgy handwriting demanded an explanation for the Potters' infatuation with the Malfoys.

When he consulted the Wizarding Education Department of the Ministry, someone ended up mentioning the bloody, freaking Malfoys.

"Seems they're allowing that ex-Death Eater Malfoy to teach Potions at Hogwarts this year. We would sanction against it, but it is entirely within the headmaster's right to staff the school." Dean Hammersly raged, par for the course with his well established hatred of dark wizards. Or, former dark wizards.

"They say time heals all wounds, but I think we need to wait a millennium for that to be okay. Suppose he'll take over Slytherin House and start recruiting minions on campus." Another faceless Ministry employee agreed. Somewhere in the back of his head, Harry vaguely remembered him clamoring with the other students to hand him over to Voldemort. Flippant Ravenclaw.

Against Harry's better nature, and partially out of irritation at drowning in a sea of hypocrites, he contradicted his co workers.

"He was bloody brilliant at Potions when we were in school." Harry said absentmindedly, shuffling through some really boring papers. Half of which were just blank parchment. His two stunned admirers were stilled for just a moment before they jumped to take a more advantageous spin on their conversation.

"Hogwarts has really been reaching for professors in the last decade. No one's been able to last after McGonnagal took over. If she weren't whipping that staff into shape, I'd think she should be close to retirement."

"From what I've heard, they've made at least two staffing changes a year for the past three. She wasn't too picky during the rebuilding period, but all of a sudden, she's raising her famously high standards."

"They've been looking for a permanent Defense Against the Dark Arts professor for at least three terms now. But I don't blame her for that one. Who could take over in the wake of Harry Potter? McGonnagal might cry tears of joy if you volunteered for the job."

"Yeah, and while you're at it, you could keep an eye on that snively Malfoy." The mindless duo laughed at their own "wit." Harry dismissed the idea as normal workplace pandering, at least normal for the world's hero. But he was interested in the rumor about Draco, even if he didn't want to admit it to himself.

After a few hours of flip flopping and convincing himself it was normal to care, he decided to owl Malfoy.

"_Hey Pastyface,_

_The gossipmongers at work say you're going to teach at Hogwarts. Poor students._

_Cheers,_

_Potter"_

Eloquent. But his poetry got a quick response.

"_Boy Hero,_

_You shouldn't believe everything you hear. What else have you heard, how the Minister is boggering his house elf mistress in his office? But yes, Potty, I've accepted a position as Potionsmaster. _

_Yours,_

_Malfoy_

_P.S. I pity the students as well. They'll be too distracted by their gorgeous instructor to pass their OWLS."_

Harry smirked at the snarky tone their correspondence adopted, but paused to comprehend what his friend had just confirmed. He'd be teaching at Hogwarts next year. The implications were many and uncertain. At first, he didn't fully understand why Malfoy was making such a large move. Despite having a lucrative chain of apothecaries and being independently wealthy, he was sitting on both a family fortune and his wife's generous dowry.

Money had never once in his life been an issue.

But considering his coolness toward Astoria and his fondness toward Scorpius, it made sense that when given a choice between the two, he'd decide on time with his son. The dedication reminded him of how long it had been since he owled his sons at Hogwarts. He made a mental addition on his to-do list and then returned to the issue at hand.

It seemed like a reasonable idea. It even seemed like a, dare he think it, fun idea. There was something so beyond magic in the halls of Hogwarts that made Harry envy Draco's decidedly golden opportunity.

Either way, he prepared himself to hear all about it and how it would affect precious Astoria once he returned home. And, as predicted, Ginny came bolting to his side bearing the already broken news.

They discussed it at length, or as long as Harry could tolerate speaking of the Malfoys without feeling somewhat unfaithful. They tried talking about something else, but as it turned out, conversation topics were few and far between when the Potters weren't discussing their favorite family friends.

It had never been clearer to Harry that his marriage had hit a blatantly routine stage. He still loved Ginny, of course, but he often felt the intimacy was gone. Looking at Ron and Hermione was painful, considering that neither their fighting nor their passion had yielded in the last 19 years.

His concerns were marginally lessened by watching Astoria get cold shouldered by her steely husband. But with his recent cooling of affection, he was sure Ginny had joined the neglected wife club. He was sure his wife had thrown herself into a new friendship to fill some emotional need Harry had failed to meet. He vowed to try harder thanks to his little self-guilt trip.

With that revelation in mind, when his red-haired lady popped off to pick up their daughter from babysitter/aunt Hermione after cooking dinner, Harry waved his wand and set a romantic table. He had just finished lighting the candles when Ginny came back.

"Lily demanded to stay at Aunty Herm's for dinner and-what is this?" She gasped, eyes alight at the table.

"Thought I'd surprise you. Spur of the moment thing." Harry said, pulling her seat out and ushering her to sit. Seeing Ginny's face glow with the romantic attention made him feel as though he'd taken the first step to mending a strained relationship.

But his enthusiasm waned throughout the night when the romantic novelty faded.

And, as Harry discovered in the next torturous hour, lighthearted compliments only tided Ginny over for a short time. Seeing his wife's somewhat disappointed expression furthered his guilt.

Something needed to change or this would be the beginning of the end.

* * *

Thanks for sticking with me.


	4. Chapter 4

OH MY GOD YOU GUYS...I almost forgot to post this. WOW. I'm SO responsible. Sorry, today, I had class, work, and then homework. Hoorah! And tomorrow, I have three classes, work, and MORE HOMEWORK! With a cold! GOD, I LOVE MY LIFE.

But you lucky people don't have to worry about hold ups in the writing due to a busy schedule, since this was finished during the summer! ANOTHER HOORAH!

Time for me to shut up. Please enjoy.

* * *

"You're mad."

"I am not."

"You're right. You're barking. Running away from Ginny won't fix anything. Trust me, it never worked when we were kids."

"I'm not running from Ginny, you prat! It's more like some time apart."

"Mate, distance isn't going to fix your problems."

"She's not the reason I'm going. Remember in fifth year? When I had to teach Dumbledore's Army how to defend themselves? I felt so…proud. I mean, I've done a lot, yeah, but teaching was something I could do. Without help. I hate to say it, but seeing Neville disarm someone was better than snogging Cho."

"I still can't imagine how you'd choose McGonnagal over my sister. I mean, I know Ginny's annoying, but…"

"Come off it, Ron. I'm going back to Hogwarts for a change of pace. You know I was wasting away in the Ministry."

"I guess…"

Harry was not surprised that his decision was met with skepticism, even by his best friend. Even by his standards, which were largely unrealistic, this was a sudden move, but it was one he was absolutely certain of. Ginny, who had been both shocked and upset initially, evened out and tried to support him. It took her a few months, the majority of which were marked by her husband spending his nights on the couch.

Eventually, she relented, somehow rationalizing that the next generation had more use for her savior spouse than she did at the moment. But Ginny still was in the dark as to Harry's underlying reasons for relocating. She seemed to think it was some sort of mid-life crisis.

In some illogical crevice of his brain, Ginny's reluctant approval meant she had something else in common with Astoria.

Musings aside, Harry thanked whatever deity he believed in that he was almost through dealing with the recoil of his obstinacy. Although he fully expected shock and disdain from nearly everyone he shared the news with, the negativity grated on him. He'd applied to join the Hogwart's staff mid-year, following his two sons back to speak with McGonnagal directly. She'd never looked more thrilled in all of her years.

So, she cracked half a smile.

But, in keeping with tradition, the living legend was to wait until the start of the new year to assume his teachings. The rest of the year had flown by uneventfully. It felt like each day began with pressing a great big rewind button and playing through a recording.

The epitome of mundane.

And while he and Draco didn't exactly giggle together while packing, they did exchange a fair number of correspondences about their upcoming teaching debut. Mostly, Malfoy poked fun at Harry for stalking him and the latter make quips about the former poisoning his lesser students. It heightened the anticipation and made it…all-consuming.

So, when they caught sight of one another at King's Cross Station the following year, neither could contain their excitement to a simple nod.

Grins were allowed.

And, to Harry's guilty pleasure, the pair ended up sharing a compartment. The young Potters refused to sit with them, never mind their father being Champion of the Wizarding World. Dad was still Dad. Without his present distraction, Harry might have remembered to be offended, but he was too occupied with trying to strike up a conversation with Draco to care.

About anything.

He even blocked out the snack trolley, which he usually cleared out singlehandedly. The idea of starting a new life, making an impact in a different way, was thrilling and sharing it with the unlikeliest of company intensified the moment.

"Don't get too happy, Potter. The students won't respect you if they see you've wet yourself with joy." Draco sneered, flipping hastily through the pages of his newspaper. Insults were his go-to stress relief. Dealing with Draco Malfoy hadn't changed, but the more Harry handled him, he came to realize that the fangs held no venom.

Professor McGonnagal wasn't privy to their newfound rapport, and made her thoughts clear.

"Now, _Professors,_" She said with a stiff uncertainty, "this is a well respected school and I expect you both will act accordingly. I believe these years apart should have been sufficient to quell any leftover animosities you two may have. So, I trust you to be civil." The ever-stern witch nodded, reminding them to wait for an introduction before heading into the Great Hall.

After the magnificent doors closed behind her, Harry and Draco remained in the middle of the grand stone staircase. The taller man took another step, just one above Harry, and smirked.

"You heard her. Civil." He drawled, extending a hand. In his gesture, Harry could see the shadow of an offer 26 years in the past.

This time, he accepted.

While Malfoy's words had been sarcastic, his handshake was firm and sincere. When the appointed time came, they strode into the Great Hall side-by-side. And although they were forced to sit on opposite sides of the professor's table, they were still wary of each other's presences. Harry's eyes flickered to his blonde haired companion regularly, whenever he could look away from the Charms professor trying to talk to him. She seemed tickled pink to chat up the Boy Who Lived.

Who was more aptly named The Boy Who Leered. And though his gaze was both more frequent and longing, Harry caught Draco returning his gaze several times during the feast.

Harry was hoping to battle tongues on the way back to their new living quarters, in a purely platonic way, of course.

Unfortunately for him, their house allegiances demanded separation, so they parted ways in the corridor immediately outside of the Great Hall. The Brave and Confused Harry Potter was left to meander up the moving staircases amongst scores of equally puzzled first years. Seeing as how he considered the halls of Hogwarts his true home during his adolescence, the only place he really got lost was in his thoughts. Those troubling dreams had ceased for most of the time before coming to Hogwarts, but their hazy implications still hung over Harry's messy, black haired head.

Adamant about clearing his head, he did all he could think to do. Penning Ginny as fast as the parchment and quill set could fly from his trunk. He assured her of many things, his triumphant return to their alma mater, the excitement of the students, the undying love he had for her. And watching these sentiments soaking their ink in his chicken scratch handwriting, Harry hoped to assure himself of these things.

His subconscious was not so easily fooled.

At midnight, instead of spooning Ginny, or even being alone in his new surroundings, Harry was writhing and bucking in the crisp white sheets with a pale haired demon. Flashes of desperate touching, grinding, scratching, licking filled Harry with an endless desire.

Cutting blue eyes stayed on his while Draco slid slowly down the smaller man's torso, placing small kisses along the length of his chest. With every loving nip, the toned body under him jumped in aroused surprise. The caresses ghosted over his flesh, leaving the places he touched chilled. The pressure building in Harry's groin was unbearable and the sexy little sounds Draco was making into his chest had him feeling like he could burst any second.

And damn it all if he wasn't on the brink when a particularly loud owl woke Harry up. Too far gone to even consider ignoring his problem below the equator, the hot and bothered Potter continued where, literally, the man of his dreams left off. At first, he made a conscious effort to wank to his wife, but his lukewarm response tore away his resolve.

Once again, those cold eyes radiated heat while Harry fantasized about them traveling over his torrid body. And when he thought of Malfoy bending over in controlled submission, he peaked, spilling over his hands.

Coming down from his high, Harry panted heavily and looked around. It wasn't the first time he'd made a mess of his sheets at Hogwarts, and if his most recent dream was any indication, it most certainly would not be the last. Thankfully, the house elves were either unfamiliar with the reasons for sticky sheets, or they were banned from commenting.

A thick guilt set in over Harry's shoulders when he discovered his clean sheets the first time all those years ago and it settled back in. For a man in his mid-thirties, he felt remarkably childish. But the feeling was something he missed. The unbelievable burden of defeating the most powerful dark wizard who ever lived kind of robbed him of his childhood.

That, and the Dursleys were no help. When he thought about his position, sitting sweaty and messy in the dormitories of his old school, there was a comforting renewal of youth.

It was safer this time.

He wouldn't have to defend the world around him from an unspeakable evil.

He just had to run a class…

The first day of instruction went remarkably well. Harry hadn't anticipated, but should have expected, his students to stare at him in complete awe for the first thirty minutes. He'd hoped briefly that it was just first-year wonder, but when the reaction persisted through all of the classes, he realized the admiration was something much deeper. After all, what luck that they should be instructed by the man who made Defense Against the Dark Arts his bitch.

Ever wary of pretention, Harry tried to make his class less formal by playing some introductory games. He even borrowed from the dearly departed Lupin and pitted his third years against a boggart. Everything was going swimmingly, as he saw killer clowns turn into tacky balloon animals, rabid dogs devolve into cute puppies, and ghosts flop to the ground in a pool of sheets.

Sheets as dirty as Harry's, he thought with a twinge of shame.

He chuckled at the memory and continued to watch in bemused silence as his students battled against their fears. He recognized the earnest terror evolving into bravery in each of their young faces, and felt a sense of pride. There was also an upwelling of victory realizing not a one of his pupils faced Voldemort in their mirror of fears. If there was one thing above all others that redeemed his trials in defeating the Dark Lord, it was seeing all of the shining faces, his elder son's included, thanking him for peace.

There was nothing real to fear.

Not anymore.

As the last witch conquered her scorpion, Harry stepped in to banish the boggart back into its case. He expected to see, as he had his entire life, a dementor looming over him. He prepared to transform it into a colorful puppet. But he was met with a much more attractive terror.

A set of ice blue eyes opened mid-air, sending a chill throughout the stone classroom. The space around them expanded, filling with a creamy pale complexion Harry knew all too well. Panicked, but determined to stop the boggart before it exposed him to his students, let loose a mighty "Ridiculous!" and watched the eyes drop to the floor as blue marbles. Needless to say, the kids were confused, half of them expecting to catch a glimpse of Voldemort's face, which thanks to Harry, they'd never seen. But he dismissed them with a jovial wave of his arm and reminded them to bring their textbooks to class next period.

His students filed out in a mass of black robes, and as the herd thinned, there was slow, heavy applause coming from the doorway. The ineffable Draco Malfoy, or Professor Malfoy, leaned against the stone archway. His glass smirk masked a hint of vulnerability as he approached his colleague.

"Impressive first day. Reminds me of a certain professor back in our third year. Imagine that…" He drawled. Harry had a hard time focusing on the forced conversation. He stared directly into that cool stare and was overcome by dread. That boggart had nothing on the real deal. And in Draco's expression, Harry could see that they both knew what floated plainly before being transfigured into a pair of marbles.

"Draco," Harry started, moving cautiously forward. The pale blonde recoiled, his features starting to darken.

"_Professor,_" he emphasized, "I just dropped by to let you know that Quidditch field assignments are going to be handed out tonight after dinner. I assume McGonnagal filled you in about your possibly coaching."

"Err..yeah, she mentioned something about that. Actually, kind of forced me into it. Listen, Draco," he repeated, feeling more and more frantic as the mood soured.

"That's all. Don't be late." The taller man snapped, turning curtly and disappearing around the corner. Harry slumped down on the corner of his desk and tried to process the obvious change in their newly patched relationship. He could only guess why Draco's face had started to appear.

Maybe Draco could see through Harry's clumsily veiled actions, maybe he was Harry's ambiguous sexuality manifest.

Or maybe, and this did terrify him the most, Draco was the sign that The Boy Who Once Lived had given up on life.

Really experiencing things.

Retracing his footsteps in the stone halls brought back otherworldly memories. He'd long since forgotten the elation of flying through the air for the first time. Absentmindedly, he thought of just whom he'd shared that beloved memory with.

All those years he thought he'd been enjoying the stillness of domestic life, but in the process of escaping the fear and pain being extraordinary caused him, Harry Potter had forgotten a risk's reward.

Realizing he had the better part of an hour before dinner, he rushed back to his dormitory. With every step, the weight of his revelation sunk in a little deeper. He'd ignored the signs of both falling out of love with his wife and becoming infatuated with Malfoy. Although the object of his affections was most definitely gay, falling for the enemy, even if they weren't dueling like they used to, was far out of the question.

That swamp of emotions that used to be anger stripped away to reveal a core of fondness. For the summer, he'd tried in vain to stick with his marriage. But unfortunately, not even magic could manufacture the spark back into matrimony. With a newfound certainty and a heavy heart, Harry sent Ginny an owl. He'd wanted to talk about it in person, but even before he left, she'd refused to have a serious conversation with him. Her way of patching up their sinking ship was carrying on as normal. Which meant parenting, shopping, and spending quality time with Astoria. But even through the denial, he could see the pain she was enduring.

The pain he'd caused.

The pain he couldn't stop.

He decided to put the words she didn't want to hear into ink. He owled her, admitting that he had feelings for another person. Names were not mentioned, hoping to avoid the Ginny-Astoria grapevine which might lead him to great embarrassment.

But he offered to seek counseling with her. While he knew there was definitely something there when he looked at Malfoy, he couldn't just leave the woman who'd given him his children.

At the moment, Harry wasn't sure Draco was worth soiling his family. He could easily choose between him and Ginny. But pitting the new object of his affections against his children was another story entirely.

The next morning, he woke to a reply. Her writing was frantic and he was sure there were teardrops in the corner of the parchment. But she agreed to seek some serious help. Harry was to apparate from Hogsmeade on weekends to make their appointments.

He knew he was doing the right thing.

Ginny loved him. She adored him. Gave him everything she had. Ginny was safe.

But she couldn't turn his world upside down with a simple glance. She was, and always had been, a damsel. A trophy. Loving Malfoy was a challenge. Ignoring him even more so. And judging by his history, Harry Potter was all about challenges.

Now for his latest and greatest feat.

Forgetting Draco Malfoy.

* * *

Thanks for putting up with me.


	5. Chapter 5

Almost forgot again this week. But I didn't! And you will get your conclusion same time next Tuesday.

Took a bit of a plot jump here, but I hopefully made it easy enough to just smooth into the story. I thought the story got a bit rougher as it went along, but my friend assured me it was fine. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy.

* * *

Therapy had gone nowhere quickly.

After three months of steady appointments, the ocean of tears Ginny had cried didn't change the fact that Harry was in love with someone else. In fact, the counseling only solidified the divide between spouses. And when Harry was absolutely unwilling to abandon his post at Hogwarts, adamant that he needed the time with his children to stay sane, both Ginny and the counselor understood that he wasn't able to commit to fixing their problems.

Seeing Ginny hold her head in defeat, Harry saw how he'd aged her. He tried to apologize, try to do right by her, but she left as soon as he opened his mouth. And in the coming weeks, the only thing she could bring herself to discuss with him was how to tell the children.

They agreed to all spend holidays together and work out custody as the issue arose.

Having the family divided in Hogwarts most of the year made the problem less pressing. With the Christmas holiday rearing its festive head, the freshly separated pair decided to let the kids have one more flawless celebrating before breaking the news as gently as possible. Ginny convinced Harry to at least stay with them in the house as usual.

Harry was reluctant at first, feeling the sharp shock of guilt whenever he caught Ginny's eyes. Her brows would knit together slightly and he could see the agony he could have avoided, but chose not to. However, he vowed to keep his children as comfortable as possible in this trying situation.

Afterward, he would look for separate accommodations. Admittedly, the pressure of obligation to his soon-to-be ex-wife pushed him to let go of more things than one would in a splitting of assets, but Harry Potter was neither materialistic nor needy.

And, never one to be burdened by finances, Harry realized moving out would be much easier than he'd imagined.

At first, the reality of the split sparked a panic.

Harry stayed awake at night, constantly questioning his and Ginny's decision. Surely, things weren't that bad. Though the passion had considerably cooled, dimming husband and father of thee wasn't ready to write his wife out completely. He didn't know whether divorce was an overreaction to what could have just been a transition from school fancy to companionate love.

But the doubts cleared like storm clouds the second he caught site of Draco Malfoy storming down the corridor.

The tight fire in the pit of his stomach that boiled every milliliter of blood in his body reminded him of what he knew to be true. Compared to involuntary feelings he got whenever he caught site of the sharp features of Professor Malfoy, his feelings for Ginny were by and large brotherly. Or sisterly, as he poked fun at his newfound sexuality. Overtaken by his own thoughts, he forgot to stop and work on getting back into Draco's good, or even neutral graces.

Every meal, every professors' meeting, every fleeting moment in passing, Harry stared and Draco scowled.

The missing weight of his cold eyes flirting across his skin made Harry feel unnaturally light whenever they passed. But far be it for Harry to make an actual effort to bridge the gap with the wound of his divorce just beginning to scar. And making amends with his fellow professor seemed to be the very last thing Malfoy wanted to do.

Not just seemed.

Proven.

Once, to avoid sitting next to Harry in the Great Hall, Draco got chummy with Professor McGonnagal and sat on the opposite side of the Headmaster.

It was certainly frustrating. Even back in their hostile days as students, Harry always had Draco's attention in one way or another. Now that it was lost to him, he didn't care if Malfoy's gaze was friendly or not.

He just wanted those eyes to flicker back to him.

And as much as the intensity of his stare frightened him, the contempt it seemed to show just before it disappeared scared him more.

Harry got his wish the next weekend. In his first reprieve from therapy, Quidditch coach Potter was anxious to spend some well-deserved time on the pitch. Just in time for the Gryffindor-Slytherin match.

If Draco had been distant before, the heightened rivalry of their houses made him downright avoidant. In fact, the pale blonde crammed himself into a corner, hiding from both Harry and the sun. The match proceeded, carrying less and less importance on Harry's radar as he resumed stalker-like tendencies. Only about halfway through game play, when the crowd's uproar alerted him to the situation on the pitch, did he tear his eyes away from the sulking Draco. Two players, one from each house team, were moaning and writhing on the ground in pain.

All uninjured athletes began a heated argument as to the fault of the collision, leaving the referee to prevent the outbreak of an inter-house fight. Both Harry and Draco bolted down from the stands, rushing to attend to their injured students.

Hutch Flannagan, the primary Gryffindor beater, clutched his right elbow. Harry winced, both recalling a similar injury and realizing that his star defender would be out of commission for a little while. Thankfully, Gildroy Lockheart was not around to extend his leave of absence.

The Slytherin chaser sported a badly injured knee and, like his crash partner, was unable to stand. Harry turned around to see two stretchers floating their way, a huffing Madame Pomfrey in their wake.

"Terrible rough sport," she cried, levitating each player onto the gurneys. "If it weren't for this violent excuse for an activity, I might have time to relax." Both coaches grimaced, realizing they'd each spent more than their fair share of time in the hospital wing. Knowing that the boys in front of them were no different, the pair followed their charges into the castle. Once the blustering medi-witch had tended to the students' "unnecessary" injuries, she assured the two intervening professors that their presences were no longer needed. Though, by her tone, it was quite clear that they'd also worn out their welcome.

Hesitant about leaving Flannagan before he regained consciousness, Harry protested, only to have the heavy double stone doors slam shut in front of his face. He turned around and tried to catch up to Draco's already receding silhouette.

"Malfoy, wait up." Harry called, at a brisk jog. Draco's head turned back just slightly, before he groaned and sped up his walk. The increase in speed wasn't enough, and Professor Potter trotted to his side a few moments later. Neither said a word and Harry wasn't even sure where they were headed. He tried to break the silence. "It's a good thing neither of them were hurt badly. They can both return to practice within the week." He started nervously, unsure about anything in their relationship besides Quidditch.

"I know. I was there when Madame Pomfrey said it." He spat, neglecting to make eye contact.

"Are you telling your kids to collide with mine? Because this is like the third time it's happened." Harry had meant it as a joke, a jab like he was used to exchanging with the pale faced demon. But when Draco suddenly stopped, and whirled to face Harry, he knew it hadn't come off that way.

"Listen, _Potter_," He scathed, with all the venom he'd till that moment forgotten. "I know your game."

Harry froze. It was true, then. Those steely eyes could see right through him. Right to his fears. The ability to free Harry or cripple him. They could see the panic at losing control. They could see Harry wanting him. But from the flushed, angry expression on Draco's face, it didn't look as if he returned Harry's feelings. Not even a little bit.

"It's my fault. I shouldn't have apologized. I can see that night ruined everything." Malfoy continued, turning his head and looking to the ground. And for all the rage Harry could practically feel radiating from the still-fragile looking man, he felt that some anger was pointed inward.

Seeing the dry pain on Draco's face, the sober frustration, his stomach plummeted and he felt as though he could be sick at any moment.

Harry wasn't even close to confessing.

He most definitely wasn't ready to face rejection.

"Is that why you've been avoiding me?" The newly crushed man managed, shrinking into himself as the reality of his situation set in.

"Great deduction, Potter! Do you know how uncomfortable it is to have eyes watching you constantly? I thought I'd had it bad after the war, but you're relentless!" He shouted. Suddenly, every side-long glance, every longing stare came back and stabbed him, pricking his entire torso like a wall of needles. Harry's face filled with hot shame, accompanied by the beginning of tears.

"I-I'm sorry, Draco." He stuttered, for once making an effort to avoid Draco's stare.

"Oh, don't start with the 'Draco' rubbish! No need to rub my face in it, _Saint Potter._ What? Mad that you've been caught?" He chided, moving closer.

"Clearly, you're the angry one." Harry said, still unable to meet the infuriated wizard's eyes.

"You're damn right I'm angry!" He yelled. "You know, you really had me going there for a while. Bravo. After that damned _apology_ dinner, I thought…we were…I mean, I almost trusted you! For Merlin's sake, I told you things. _Private_ things. I can see that was a mistake." His perfect platinum hair was starting to fall wildly around his sharp, angular face. This level of raw emotion was rare for the Malfoy, even back in his volatile younger days.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy. I just…couldn't help it."

"Couldn't help it? You _couldn't help it?_ Do you know what you've done Potter? With both of us coming back to Hogwarts, I thought we could re-do our time here. Make nice. Be _friends._ Because in my farce of a life, I knew you were the one person I DIDN'T HAVE TO LIE TO!" Malfoy yelled, face screwed with uncontrollable anger and a hint of something melancholy. "But you couldn't let me have that one thing, could you?" He softened, sadness deflating him.

Harry, swallowing his fear and disappointment, reached a hand to Draco's shoulder. But much like the serpent that represented his house, Malfoy recoiled and hissed.

"Don't touch me." Harry could see the disgust floating in Draco's penetrating stare. "I haven't done anything wrong, despite your unfounded suspicions."

"Huh?" Harry asked, face going blank. The conversation somehow had steered into unfamiliar territory and he wasn't able to follow.

"Wipe that dumb look off you face, Potter. Playing stupid won't make me forget you policing me for the last few months. Looks like you just couldn't leave your Auror position. Should have guessed it would be impossible for Hero Complex Harry."

"Malfoy, come off it for just a moment here. What are you talking about? Policing you?" Harry asked incredulously, starting for a moment to hope that this whole thing had been a tragic and scary misunderstanding.

"Yes. Because it was just so hard for you to believe that I'm not the bad guy anymore. People don't change, do they, you ignorant prick?" Draco yelled, hurt as plain as anger in his outburst. "I don't have any plans to kill you, or cause problems of any sort, if that's what you're worried about. In this state, I probably couldn't even spike the butter beer. So you can stop being so fucking scared of me."

Harry paused a moment, things finally fitting into a puzzle that was half completed while he wasn't looking.  
"Scared of you? Draco, as formidable as you are, that's definitely not what I think about…" He trailed off, unsure of how far he was willing to go to correct Draco's misunderstanding.

"Don't fucking lie to me!" Malfoy screeched, reaching for his wand in his robes and pointing it in between Harry's eyes. "I know what I saw, back on the first day of term. We both know it was my face that bloody boggart was forming." Harry could see the still-flustered man biting back pain of his own, as though the thought of his so-called friend fearing him was a terror in and of itself.

"Well, yeah, those were your eyes, but that's not right! It's not because I think you'll betray me, it's just that I…"

"Save it for someone who still believes your bullshit." And with that final word, Draco disappeared behind a flurry of black robes and anger. In his absence, Harry slumped against a nearby wall and pondered his next move.

Awkward doesn't even begin to describe dinner.

Right round 9 in the evening, as soon as Harry could ditch the hustle and bustle of student activity in the common areas, he returned quickly and quietly to his dormitory to compose another life changing letter. He sat at the same barren desk where he'd delivered the bad news to his ex-wife, and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment. Words he'd prearranged during dinner flew from the fine point on his quill, reducing one type of anxiety and exchanging it for another. He grimaced at the poor quality of his penmanship, but decided that the content of his letter was shocking enough to distract from his chicken scratch.

Once his writing came to a sudden halt, Harry leaned back in his seat, slightly unwilling to follow through with his next move. But he swallowed his pride and pointed his wand at his right temple, slamming his eyes shut. The wand slowly retreated from the side of his head, taking with it an ethereal stream of white magic. Harry quickly bottled it and tied it to the sealed envelope sitting before him.

Paranoid that this extremely sensitive material would fall into the wrong hands, Harry walked the package over to the Slytherin dungeons himself. Slipping under his father's invisibility cloak gave him just the slightest thrill of reliving the glory days, even though his status as a professor allowed him the privilege of wandering the corridors at all hours. It reassured him of his and Draco's privacy in the matter. He walked away briskly, feeling an exciting finality after his delivery.

* * *

Please bear with me. Hope you enjoy the conclusion in the next chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you all for being so wonderful and supportive. You guys seemed to want an update and I figured, hey, it's already done, why not toss the last installment out early? So whether or not you like the way this ends will be a toss up. Hopefully, you enjoy it. The NC-17 part is really one big present to those of you who stuck through the chapters of emotions and all that jazz.

Happy Friday.

* * *

Draco swayed slightly on his feet, just returning from his fifth trip through the memory his assumed-stalker left in an ornate crystal vial outside of his chambers. He closed his eyes, letting the new stream of emotions swim before his lids like the swell of cloudy ink. If there was one thing he could be absolutely certain of after tonight, Draco thought bitterly, it was that his ability to read people was shit.

For months, after seeing Harry's fears manifest in his eyes, he was sure that despite his best efforts at peacemaking, the wizarding world's Golden Boy was still chained to his suspicions.

Draco found a weak amusement that although Potter's feelings toward him did a complete turnaround, the Slytherin was still a threat. Feeling as though his bearings had been scattered on the unforgiving floor, the pale man was at a complete loss for his next step.

The only emotion he could grasp was relief. The entirety of his adult life consisted of mistrust and thinly, or not at all, veiled hatred. Which was fine, for the faceless and unimportant masses.

But Harry, he was a different story.

He always had been.

Draco now questioned how Harry Potter, arguably the most special man to ever draw breath, could fall for the wizard weasel.

With a sleepless night passing in a blur of fevered thoughts, and the dawn altogether too close for his liking, the flustered blonde tried to figure out how to proceed with his fellow professor.

Harry Potter's affections didn't disgust him; on the contrary, he found them to be the most intriguing development of his plastic life. But he didn't know what to do with them. Draco's bed was always filled with equally handsome men, none of whom gave two shits about anything but his penis.

Now, Harry Fucking Potter wanted him. He didn't know how he felt, but he knew that whatever those feelings were, they were fucking strong. Their relationship was, and always would be, intense.

Without a decision in hand or any measure of rest, Draco Malfoy trudged to breakfast with bags under his eyes large enough to hold a family of house elves. For the majority of the meal, he glared at his pumpkin juice, praying his days in Divination would give him something. When the juice's pulp refused to answer, Draco drained the cup before bolting to his first class.

He was clearly distracted, leaving his students to flit about their cauldrons with reckless abandon.

It was only when a Boil Healing Potion exploded in the face of a particularly clumsy student that the good professor resumed his responsibilities, if only momentarily.

"Not so much as a stir until I return." He barked, leading the injured teen out of the room. He escorted the Hufflepuff he considered a walking malady to the hospital wing before turning and heading back to the dungeons. On his way, he passed the Defense Against the Dark Arts room and paused, slinking in the doorway for just a moment, hearing the fleeting voice of his unexpected suitor. Suddenly, he felt a thick tension building in his stomach, something uncomfortable and urgent. He wanted a taste, needed to try. Without the burden of redemption, a core lust, ritually suppressed, rushed forward.

"Potter." He said, striding into the class with an air of authority. "I need to speak with you." Looking up from the front of the room where he was conjuring a blue defensive shield, Harry visibly shook. Thankfully, he regained enough composure to respond without raising suspicion.

"Sorry, Professor Malfoy. I'm in the middle of a demonstration." He replied, raising his wand a bit higher, so the shield covered more of his face.

"Surely that can wait." Malfoy insisted, moving close enough to disarm his target and pull him from the room. Once they were outside, before Harry could even begin a babbling complaint, Draco brusquely rattled off the words flowing through his brain's teleprompter.

"Midnight. My quarters. We give it one try." He stated flatly, turning away the second he finished speaking, not waiting for a response.

And with all the anxiety of children on Christmas Eve, both Draco and Harry watched the seconds tic by until the promised hour. Though neither would admit it, they both refused dinner for fear that it would sour on them in the wake of nerves.

One night, designated to be the summit of three hostile decades.

In the end, anxiety got the better of Draco. When Harry came to his chambers, as instructed, instead of words, acknowledgement, anything, he grabbed the shorter man's wrist and pulled him inside. In keeping with that momentum, Draco pushed Harry firmly, making him land onto his unmade bed.

Following closely, he straddled his flustered companion before nearly breaking his jaw with a kiss. He could feel strong hands pushing at his thin shoulders, forcing him backward.

"Oi, Malfoy, aren't we going to, you know, talk?" He asked, bewildered that he had to pry off the man who, twenty four hours ago, was screaming at him. Draco managed to free himself and continue pressing fevered kisses to Harry's lips.

"No time…this way is…faster…" He said, between licks and nips.

For the life of him, Harry couldn't bring himself to protest further.

Giving in, he began to reciprocate, pushing back into Malfoy, battling tongues, making obscene noises. Soon, the cold dungeon air was thick with body heat, pulsing and throbbing with need. A desperation neither man knew they had released, blocking the people, responsibilities, liabilities, fears, everything but the feel of their enflamed skins brushing together.

Clothes soon became an issue, their presence wholly and totally unwanted. Taking mere seconds to separate, Draco all but ripped the shirt off of Harry, tugging frantically at his own. When they were only in their briefs, they pressed their swelling members against each other, relishing the delicious friction.

Fraught with desire, the pair finished disrobing before jumping back to resume their heated ministrations. Draco, who was still on top, rocked his hips so that his cock slid along Harry's length. The movements were hot, electric, and wet. Harry, now writhing in what was previously imagined pleasure, brought his right hand over to stroke their cocks together. Both men rolled their heads back at the change in stimulation, arching into the embrace.

"Oh, fuck," Draco moaned, lowering his head to breathe into Harry's shoulder. The proximity made Harry's toes curl. When the blonde man bit into him, hard, it took everything he had to hold back a scream. Draco shifted, leaning back onto the bed. His legs were spread eagle, with his dripping cock standing at full attention. He made eye contact with Harry and smirked.

"Suck me." He ordered, dick twitching in anticipation. The dark haired man complied, tenderly wrapping his lips around the length presented to him. As he bobbed his head a few times, testing the waters, one of Draco's pale hands weaved its way through his stiff hair.

"Harder." Malfoy barked, using his hand to pump Harry's head faster. When his partner complied, Draco moaned. When emerald eyes flickered to watch him, another knot tensing in his stomach. He growled and ripped Harry's head upward, narrowly avoiding completion. Sufficiently aroused, the pale demon shoved his darker companion until he was on his back. Creamy white hands harshly spread olive thighs while Draco's famous Slytherin tongue did its good work on Harry's entrance.

The Boy Who Lived was quickly reduced to a puddle of whimpering bliss. While his fantasies were geared toward Harry being the dominant, he was so overcome with lust that he was happy to have Draco any way he could. And with the dexterity his new master's tongue displayed, he figured submission wasn't going to be so bad.

Doubts flitted across his mind when two pasty fingers entered him, stretching him in a previously virgin place. But feeling the smooth pads of Draco's fingers brush inside gave him the satisfaction of giving him something even Ginny never touched. And as grave a mistake as that might have been in the morning, Harry was giving a part of himself to his faithful demon.

Draco, impatient and near bursting, didn't finish preparing Harry. When he entered, there was a bit of blood, and surely plenty of pain for his conquest. But after a few moments of quiet panting, the raven haired man mumbled something about wanting to continue. Even through the teeth baring agony, Harry felt a sort of satisfaction that justified sleeping with his childhood enemy. As the pace quickened, and the tightness had ebbed just enough, Draco's cock started to hit deep, into an explosively sensitive spot deep in the pit of Harry's stomach. The man below him clenched desperately at the sheets, arousal returning.

Reaching the end of his rope, Draco babbled a quick warning before cumming, too exhilarated to pull out. After he did remove himself from Harry's freshly leaking entrance, he sucked his partner off before slumping over in exhaustion.

Draco felt a tug of guilt, but no regret. There was no more confusion about his feelings. Though he knew it was wrong, that this desire would destroy two families, he knew what he wanted. Harry Fucking Potter. And the Malfoys were never very good at denying themselves.

"So…that was…" Harry started, still dazed.

"Yeah."

"Are we…I mean, what do we…agh, I don't know."

"We'll have this conversation when we're fully clothed." Draco sighed, curling into the warmth beside him and wrapping an arm across Harry's toned and scarred chest. They shared one sweet, tired kiss before settling down for the best rest either of them had ever experienced.

The morning would come, as would change. Pursuing this, whatever it was, promised ruin. But all the sated wizards could think was that they were happy, truly happy, for the first time in a long time.

* * *

My friend, who described my writing style with a drawing of a very steep cliff, a trampoline, and a pot of burning oil, sees this more as Part One. I definitely want to do a sequel. I just don't know when it will get done, since we're also working on a comic, I have a full class load, a job, and a club to run on campus. Life is wonderful.

Thank you to everyone who read and supported this story. It really meant a lot and I hope to give you more Drarry loving in the future.


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